


His Finest Revenge

by oneironym



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Feels Trip with Elidibus, Gen, Implied Elidibus/Emet-Selch/Amaurotine WoL, Other, Post-Sundering Amaurot, Pre-5.2 Headcanons, Pre-Sundering (Final Fantasy XIV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2019-12-25
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:41:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21815338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oneironym/pseuds/oneironym
Summary: Their friendship would be a small price to pay if it meant the survival of their star. “If I must relinquish my position on the Convocation for the permission, then you will have my resignation tonight.”
Relationships: Elidibus & Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch, Elidibus & Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Elidibus/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch & Warrior of Light
Comments: 6
Kudos: 23
Collections: Final Fantasy XIV Gift Exchange (2019)





	His Finest Revenge

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JanuaryBlue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JanuaryBlue/gifts).



Elidibus stumbled back a half step as Emet-Selch shoved him, and could smell the hot coals of indignation in his aether before the other Ascian opened his mouth. The Architect had bitten back whatever he had to say until they were out of the Capitol, at least, and had all but dragged his partner around the corner beside the building, out of the way of the main thoroughfare. Overhead, the sky fell, thick with unnatural haze that had not nearly reached Amaurot yet, but would surely overcome it within days.

“I do hope it is not lost on you that this is a genuine crisis,” Emet-Selch snapped when he decided that they were adequately alone. “Millions have died already! This is not some playful rhetorical exercise where you can smugly play Hydaelyn’s Advocate for the sake of lively debate. People look to us for guidance and answers, we cannot--”

“Lest you forget, I have already lost my home,” Elidibus said sharply, cutting him off. “I’ve not heard from my kin in weeks, even before the communication lines to Sysograntia collapsed.” He knew his friend experienced the aether around them in a different way, but the Emissary nonetheless wanted to make certain that Emet-Selch could taste the acrid smoke of his words: 

“This is not a decision I make lightly.”

The Architect faltered momentarily, a hand straying to his lips. A moment later, however, he pressed on, “You know how important our unity is, then, now more than ever.” He might have been pleading, were there fewer nettles in his tone. “If the populace knows that the Convocation is divided over this summoning, how would they be able to trust our guidance in calling upon Zodiark for our deliverance?”

“I am not disagreeing with the need for drastic measures,” the Emissary replied. “Only recommending precautions.” Emet-Selch threw his hands in the air in exasperation, turning away momentarily; Elidibus did not let this stop him. “We have Lahabrea’s eloquence, Nabriales’ devotion, your heart and your sorcery, not to mention all the others… I do not doubt we can summon Lord Zodiark, but the fact remains that we do not know for certain what the result will be! We seek to pool a massive amount of aether - who knows what other repercussions this might have?”

Emet-Selch turned on him again, an edge of venom now in his voice. “And so your response is to abandon us?”

“Abandon? That’s what you think this is?” Later, Elidibus would know the accusation to be hyperbole, as was the Architect’s wont, but in that moment, it stung nonetheless. “I simply believe that it would be irresponsible for all fourteen of us to be present at the summoning. What if something goes immediately awry? The loss of the entire Convocation at once would hardly be any better for morale and public order.”

“You would not stake your life on the opportunity for revenge for Sysograntia?” Emet-Selch’s fingers half curled into fists, and he shook his head. “Recommend another to stay behind, and use your position for- for a symbolic bond with our sister city.” A hint of pain slipped through the vitriol he used to mask it. “You should be the first of us at the summoning.”

Now it was Elidibus’ turn to falter. Emet-Selch cared, as he always did, but too deeply now, and that was what this was truly about. The blood-whetted steel of his words was a blade of revenge he meant to press into his partner’s hands to weild. 

By Zodiark, the Emissary wanted nothing more than to tear into the beasts that were ravaging their star. To unmake them and return them to aether, for all the lives they had already taken, and for those that could yet be saved…. Yet he would absolutely not tolerate Emet-Selch’s invective for doing what he thought was necessary. 

“I will not ask another to take my place, because I know this summoning means at least this much to us all.” Voice tense with frost and reluctance, he met Emet-Selch’s golden gaze. The other man loved too much, too deeply, too passionately, and Elidibus so badly wanted to give in to the maelstrom of his own emotions, but he was Emissary and Ambassador for his clear and level head. Amaurot and Sysograntia, whatever else remained of their world, needed both in equal measure. 

“Whom do we help in throwing off the aetheric balance so drastically?” he pressed on. “I know of the details of our plan for the summoning, and if we must counter the calling of Lord Zodiark somehow to prevent us from succumbing to a ruin of our own making instead, then I must be present to aid those of us who remain.” 

Their friendship would be a small price to pay if it meant the survival of their star. “If I must relinquish my position on the Convocation for the permission, then you will have my resignation tonight.”

Amaurot itself seemed to stop and hold its breath between them. Then Emet-Selch’s aether seethed and his lip twitched, and Elidibus had scarcely a moment to react before the other Ascian swung a fist at him with a snarl. The blow caught the edge of the Emissary’s mask, knocking it uncomfortably from his face to clatter to the paving stones. 

“ _ Coward _ .”

“Hades, you don’t mean that and we both know it.” Elidibus raised a hand to his cheek where he knew he would have a bruise, even if he had been able to avoid the worst of his friend’s lashing out.

“If you would show such disrespect for your Convocation position as to abandon it, then you will address me by my proper title,  _ Thoth _ ,” the Architect spat, and turned away.

Elidibus’ own temper flared, and he shot back, “Do not forget that you are a servant of the people,  _ Emet-Selch _ , and that your title is not one to be wielded like an emperor’s.”

Emet-Selch’s furor tasted of the ozone of a thousand lightning strikes. “I see I am better off not wasting further time on you when there are preparations to be made. Do not bother distracting the Convocation with your resignation. I will convey the word of your cravenness to the others in your stead.”

“Stoke your grudge after we have saved our people.” The Emissary - or former Emissary, perhaps - turned on his heel and left.

* * *

When Persephone came to his quarters to see him, Elidibus was lying calmly on his back in the center of the floor, hands folded and resting on his stomach. He stared at the ceiling - or, more accurately, through it - and did not move even when his visitor spoke:

“Thoth, if you were moping any harder, the very air in the hallway would have condensed into fog.”

Her voice was flowers and rain, as always, and Elidibus sighed, closing his eyes. 

Persephone settled down on the floor beside him, and took a moment to arrange her robes around her legs before leaning down to peer into his eyes.

“You took your mask off,” she observed. It was then that Elidibus caught the extra layer of flowers she had poured over her tone, her emotions, and he knew that she had spoken to Hades already about what had happened between the two of them. 

“Emet-Selch broke it,” the other Ascian replied with quiet brambles. He was glad for her presence, but wanted to warn her not to press him.

She smiled sadly, reaching out to brush her fingertip ever so lightly along the bruise that Hades had left on her dear partner’s cheekbone. “It scarcely takes any aether at all to mend that crack.”

“And the bridge that burnt this afternoon requires an  _ architect _ to repair.”

Persephone had no words with which to reply, but Elidibus tipped his head just enough to lean against her hand where she touched him. With a sad smile, she pushed his hood back from his face the rest of the way, and then moved to curl a lock of his hair behind his ear. 

“You know how he gets when he feels deeply about something,” she said at last. “He hoped that being present at the summoning would offer you some manner of closure, and catharsis for what you’ve already lost.”

Coals still sullenly smoldered in Elidibus’ heart, and her reminder prodded a lick of flame from them. “Then he could have said as much with fewer slights against my character.” At last, he moved, rolling onto his side before pushing himself up to a half-sitting position that mirrored Persephone’s. “You and the rest of the Convocation will call upon Lord Zodiark with or without me. And if we are so fortunate as to save ourselves through the summoning, then I will have time aplenty for revenge.”

Persephone sighed a gentle breeze, trying to calm him. “For what it is worth, I think you’re right in what you are doing. If the entire Convocation is killed at once, everyone will lose hope. And hope is the strongest weapon we yet have.”

Then her heart fluttered nervously as she took a deep breath, the fallen petals of her voice turning to steeled scales. Elidibus’ brows drew together in concern, but before he could open his mouth to question her, Persephone placed a fingertip to his lips.

“Rather, I should say, I trust you enough that I am joining you to help ensure the safety of the Convocation summoning ritual. If you see that Lord Zodiark’s will given form does indeed set the aetheric balance dangerously askew, you will need someone well-versed in the Light to counteract it.” Her crystal-blue gaze was serious and steady, to be a bastion of reassurance to him. 

Even Elidibus’ aether fell silent in surprise, and he held her gaze for a long moment before glancing away in thought. “Hades would never go off on you about it, at least,” he muttered at last. “But….” He inhaled deeply, then let his breath out slowly, calm waves lapping against the seashore of his homeland - whole and thriving as he remembered it. “I would gladly welcome your help.”

“I, too, feel better for your plan.” Persephone smiled like sunlight, and leaned close, canting her head slightly to one side. “And this,” she murmured against Elidibus’ lips, “Is precisely why our Convocation requires an Emissary, an outside perspective to keep us from growing mired in our own echoes.”

He nodded, closing his eyes as he accepted her kiss. Persephone was always eager to debate and disrupt, becoming a consummate Scholar of the Light to understand how to subvert its staying power. Knowing she would be at his side comforted Elidibus in more ways than one.

After they parted, the Emissary tried to remain with his forehead resting against hers, but Persephone sat back. She folded the aether of the room to retrieve his mask from where he had left it on the floor, and placed it carefully back on his face, mending the small fracture as she did so. As she finished, she traced her fingertip along the bottom edge of the mask, his badge of office, trailing down to the dip of its beak before brushing lightly over his lips again.

“We can formally present your plan this evening, and not your resignation,” Persephone reassured him. “And if Hades wants to rail against both of us, he is welcome to make an ass of himself before the full Convocation.”

* * *

The concentration of aether on the First caught Elidibus’ eye - this was not simply the blinding Light from the Flood that had started there. And it was far too deliberate, too delicate, too vast, to be the doing of the mortal fragments who lived there. He was reluctant to look, still stinging from the loss of his old friend, not to mention his flight from the Source… but in the end, curiosity and a desire for closure got the better of him. Elidibus allowed his essence to disperse from the surface of Lord Zodiark’s prison, and folded his being down to a flat shadow in order to manifest a form suitable for the First Shard.

The Emissary was fairly certain at least that the anomaly was Emet-Selch’s doing - the man had grown overly fond of building himself grand tombs in his plays at being mortal. And sure, enough, his senses did not even need to acclimate to the dullness of the broken shard to see the vast aetheric diorama that the Architect had wrought: of Amaurot, the last home any of them had known.

A hand inadvertently went to his chest in a vain effort to quell the rising ache. The scene was hazy and imperfect, even compared to his eons-old memories, yet Emet-Selch had still put such care into the recreation. 

The air tasted of salt, not simply because of the vast quantity of ocean that had been displaced around the city, but because Emet-Selch had deliberately woven it into the aether. It was the scent of something familiar and endless, yet also unfathomably distant. As Elidibus descended from high above the city towards the familiar streets, he caught eddies of tension, as well, metallic and edged with the smell of smoke, stirred by the footfalls of the shades that haunted the place.

Elidibus allowed himself to drift along with the subtle currents of aether, which seemed to draw him in, towards the center of the city plaza, towards the Capitol. Flat models of citizens gathered in small groups to chat: nervous fretting in bowstring-sinew or drumhead-skin-stretched-too-tight, or debates thick with honey to cover the undercurrents of fear. The whole world waited for the end.

At last, the Emissary descended to walk the grounds, allowing the natural flow to carry his feet to rest by the grounds outside the Convocation’s hall. The paving stones gave slightly under the weight of his unsundered soul, but the sound of his steps was nearly full and correct. 

Growing to his full height (for the first time in too long, perhaps), Elidibus approached the doors, which stood slightly open. A trail of Light like droplets of halogen-white blood led through the space and into the building, and, though the Warrior of Light was long gone, he was still hesitant to go inside. The polished stone of the place, the toy model of where the Convocation of Amaurot had made the final efforts to save their crumbling world, was starting to come unraveled already, to begin its own journey into oblivion now that Emet-Selch was no longer alive to maintain it.

Seven-times rejoined, seven Ardors, and they had not yet found the shard of Persephone that had loved Elidibus and Emet-Selch both. She had been instrumental in the summoning of Hydaelyn so long ago, instrumental in saving their world from a second destruction of their own making, and now the goddess of Persepone’s own creation held her reins. Hydaelyn had turned what remained of the Scholar of Light into a Warrior, a blunt force object that She now wielded against those who had been Persephone’s dearest friends and lovers.

Elidibus buried his face in his hands, feeling tears roll down his cheeks behind his mask, and he turned away from the Capitol to lean back against the towering door. So much they had lost, and for so little regained in return, and now the Emissary was alone. Zodiark gnawed at his soul, craving revenge for the loss of another of His faithful, feeding off of Elidibus’ mourning, yet it was Thoth’s heart that burned first with the desire to see the Warrior of Light regret what she had done to the Convocation’s Architect. 

The aether here tasted of Hades’ dour incense, but also stale, dusty cinnamon like an old memory of shared kinship. Something that had once been deeper than family. Elidibus touched his mask just below his eye, and stroked his fingertip back through time until he found the the fracture Emet-Selch had put in it, ages upon ages ago, and wondered if this might be the closest he would get to a true apology from him. 

Hades loved powerfully, always in his own way, and Thoth hoped that they had grown together again over the millennia since the Sundering. “Home” had necessarily become people instead of a place; the Emissary vowed to himself as he sobbed outside of the dollhouses of Amaurot that, once the One True God’s will had been done, he would make all the time in all the worlds for his retribution.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you don't mind some Feels for Starlight 8'D; Featuring some headcanon of my own, since we need to know more about Elidibus stilllll. Hope you enjoy! ;w;


End file.
